


out of an entire kingdom he kneels only to me

by thehobbem



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, But no one dies, Fluff, Hades and Persephone AU, M/M, No characters were harmed in the making of this fic, Romance, Victor is Persephone, Yuuri is Hades, and I'm not about missed opportunities, and Vicchan is Cerberus bc I know what I'm about son, and Victor is a little shit to Yakov XD, and other myths as well in passing, liberties taken with the greek myths ofc, other characters are mentioned but don't actually show up, since Yuuri is Hades and all, warning: themes of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-08 12:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14694045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehobbem/pseuds/thehobbem
Summary: "Underworld" and "Lord of the Dead" are words that strike fear into the hearts of mortals and immortals alike. But for Victor, to whom Eternity is much too slow in its loneliness, the words only bring back the memories of a rare night of dancing and joy.And if descending into the Realm of the Dead is what it takes to get it back, then so be it.





	out of an entire kingdom he kneels only to me

A paradise for the righteous, a place of punishment for the sinners.

Since the dawn of time, that has been the one constant belief burning at the back of the collective minds of mortals. A place beyond life, beyond pain and strife, because everything you do here counts. Or, on the contrary, an eternity of pain, cyclical torture and everlasting poetic justice, because everything you do here counts in the afterlife.

In the Realm of the Dead.

And ruling over it with an iron fist and an inhuman lack of a heart, the sovereign of death. Ruthless, unyielding, deaf to any and every plea and a judge not even the gods themselves can elude. A monarch and their companion, sitting side by side on thrones made of ebony and silence.

The Aztec called them Mictēcacihuātl and Mictlāntēcutli, the king and queen of the underworld. The Sumerians feared and respected Ereshkigal, goddess of death, and her husband Nergal. In the Vedas, Yama rules over the departed alongside his twin sister and partner, Yami. For the Egyptians, it was Osiris who reigned over the fields of Aaru with his wife Isis, while in pre-Hinduism Bali, it was believed Batara Kala and his wife Setesuyara ruled over the dead. The Romans called Pluto and Proserpina the same gods the Greeks knew as Hades and Persephone.

Among all the myths surrounding Death, the Abduction of Persephone is perhaps one of the most widely known. Much has been written and sung about Kore the Maiden becoming Persephone, dread queen of the underworld; about how, with every day she spent in Hades and every tear shed by her grieving mother, mortal nights became longer and crops withered into the earth with their lost mistress.

Many know the myth.

What few really know is its true beginnings.

 

* * *

 

They call him Adonis in Cyprus. Victor likes the name, even though it's usually associated with a love affair with “Aphrodite”, which is ridiculous, of course. Chris has better things to do. But mortals seem really fond of the tale.

Further, much further up north, he’s called Jarilo, while just southeast of the Great Sea, he has a few other monikers: Despoina in Arcadia, Hagne in Messenia, Neotera in Eleusis, and his personal favorite, Kore.

Kore the Maiden.

It’s pretty, sweet, and the paintings are always beautiful. In most of them he’s side by side with “Demeter”; Victor likes to think he is as pretty as humans make him to be in their representations, but they couldn’t be farther from the truth when it comes to Yakov. The harvest deity looks invariably elegant and kind in paintings, a far cry from Yakov’s eternal frown and stiff posture.

That’s the thing with mortals. They set out to make statues and paintings of you, to tell your stories and build temples to worship you at, without the faintest idea of what you look like or what your name actually is. It’s a guessing game — sometimes you get a pretty name like Kore, and sometimes you get saddled with something like Jarilo.

At times, they get scarily close to the truth (those depictions of Amaterasu in the east _do_ look like Sara), and at other times, they are laughingly off the mark (nothing could look less like Sara than Apollo). But even if they don’t quite hit the nail on the head, the essence is still true. He can’t remember the last time he’s seen a representation of Aphrodite that doesn’t show her naked, and isn’t that just Chris?

Or Lilia. Most temples erected in honor of the King of the Gods have depictions of a serious, grey-bearded man — Zeus, Jupiter, Perun, Marduk, Odin, to name a few. It’s clearly the idea humans have of an intimidating figure. But that’s simply because they’ve never been on the receiving end of one of Lilia’s frowns.

He got a special one from her just this morning, and it was _not_ a pleasant experience.

Well. Considering how much he pestered her, he’s lucky a frown was all he got. But he also got what he wanted, and that is what matters.

 

_“Victor.” A sigh. “Why would you want to know that?”_

_“Because otherwise I’ll have to throw myself off a cliff to get there.”_

_He showers Lilia with his best smile, but all it does is produce a frown._

_“Gods don’t die.”_

_“Shall we put that theory to the test, then?”_

_The frown deepens and he swallows. Still, he doesn’t back down._

_Finally, he gets from her what not even Yakov has ever managed to: she relents._

_“Fine. But keep that information to yourself. It is sacred knowledge, and not many are privy to it.”_

 

And now, here it is: the Tree of Life. To untrained eyes, it looks like an ordinary ash tree, if a bit overgrown; to godly eyes, the tree is obviously at the very center of everything that is, was and ever will be.

_It’s always been here, and it will still be long after we’re all gone._

The thought sends shivers down his spine and he shakes it off; not the time to think about that. Victor ties his long hair into a bun, throws his cloak aside and pushes the tunic up to his knees: more than anything else, it’s time to get his hands dirty.

It doesn’t take long. It’s more about coaxing the root to move than actual digging — the perks of being a vegetation deity. Soon the entire root has moved, and Victor stares at a hole just big enough for him.

The hole stares back, but he doesn’t move. What does he do now? Throw himself in? Are there stairs of some kind? When he looks in, there’s only darkness; not darkness as in dusk, but Darkness. The one that predates Creation, and patiently awaits all of them to go back to its bosom at the End.

Jumping in is not a tempting perspective.

What is tempting, though, are the memories he chases.

 

_He doesn’t even remember whose wedding they are supposed to be celebrating, only that he doesn’t care and that he’s tired of smiling. That he’s tired of the Eternal that passes him by without moving._

_And then his ears catch a sound._

_Laughter._

_Peals of laughter falling one after another, like the pearls that fall from Mila’s hair when she emerges from the sea. Sunny like Sara’s fire horse, and more musical than anything Mickey has ever played in his lyre of stars._

_When he looks up, trying to find the source of the melody, his eyes land on  an unfamiliar figure clad in black who has not spoken ten words throughout the feast. He sat at the opposite end of the high table at first, next to Lilia, and Victor wasn’t able to get a good look at him. But now he talks to Chris like an old friend, just a couple of seats away from Victor. Laughter lights up his face like the Dawn, smile glittering more than the crystals on his right shoulder._

_A quiet question to Yakov gives him an answer he’s not prepared for: the Lord of the Underworld._

_He rarely leaves his realm, and Victor has never seen him in person before, only depictions of him in the human world. Old, ugly, with a permanent scowl and surrounded by skulls. That is how humans see him._

_That is how humans see the Cosmos’s finest creation. How can he be the Sovereign of Death, if he is obviously the most divine being to have ever graced Life?_

_The rest of the feast goes by in a blur, with Victor longing for a reason, any reason, to get closer to him. But whenever he sees him, Emil is shoving another goblet of mead into his hands_ _(that is what Emil is known for, after all)._

_And The Fates, on their part, are known for never sharing their plans and constantly surprising even the gods themselves. This time is no exception: the crowd parts and Victor sees the Lord of the Underworld walking up to him. Smiling at him._

_Not wasting one moment, Victor meets him halfway. To their right, there’s a commotion going on and a few gods argue, but he can’t be bothered with it. Not now, when those brown eyes, deeper than life itself, are boring a hole into everything he is._

_“Would you like to dance?”_

_Victor takes the hand he’s offered, and isn’t surprised to find it warm and welcoming. Humans talk of the cold hands of death, but they don’t know anything._

_They walk past Mickey, and Victor asks him for more music; they can’t dance without music, and it’ll help drown the sounds of the altercation going off on the other side of the room. Something about a golden apple that is really none of their business._

_And it is with those hands on his waist that a dance starts, and under that easy, graceful lead that Eternity shifts at last. They move effortlessly around the room, each spin intoxicating and every step a mystery. When he’s dipped, he knows there’s nowhere safer than the arms that hold him, and nowhere more dangerous._

_When Dawn opens the doors of the skies, it finds Victor still in his arms, laughing and dancing like never before. Being happier than ever before. And when life is everlasting, Before constitutes a long time._

_But so does After._

 

And that, he reminds himself, is what he’s chasing.

An After.

Without another thought, he throws himself in.

 

* * *

 

“Yuuri?”

“Hmm?”

“There’s… someone here to see you.”

He lifts his head from the threads he’s examining (he should send these to The Triplets as soon as possible), slightly surprised. What does Phichit mean, “someone here to see you”? He doesn’t exactly get visitors. Those who come stay forever, usually against their will.

Unless it’s the Messenger. “Is it Yuri, the Young? Send him in.”

Phichit shakes his head with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“No, not him. You… you should come and see for yourself.”

Yuuri’s brow furrows at the barely contained amusement in Phichit’s voice, but curiosity wins him over and he gets up. Yuri, the Young is the only Upperworld deity allowed to walk in and out of the Realm of the Dead, and only because he and Lilia allow it. If it’s not him...

Maybe it’s Lilia herself? But what would she be doing here? He opens the door to the throne room. Why would Lilia come all the—

He halts.

Stares.

Looks around to make sure he hasn’t accidentally materialized on the surface world. But no, it’s still his throne room, all in muted colors (if it is even possible to say there are colors in the Underworld) with his silver throne in the middle.

And Victor.

By “someone” Phichit meant _Victor_ , the most gorgeous deity to have ever… deitied (is that a verb? It’s not a verb. It should be, for Victor).

He’s here, smiling like seeing Yuuri is the apotheosis of his existence.

“Yuuuuuuri!”

Oh no.

He’s dead.

Victor is dead, that is the only explanation. Not many realize it’s possible, but Yuuri does. He has a few Old Gods wandering around in Limbo, after all.

Who let that happen?! Last time he checked, Victor was worshipped in a hundred different places! Humans can’t possibly have forgotten him already. He’s a _harvest god_ , he should’ve had one of the longest eternity spans!

Not that that seems to have fazed Victor in any capacity; he walks up to Yuuri, smile lighting up the entire Underworld and a hand stretched out in an offer (of what?).

“I’m here!” he says, as if there were nowhere he’d rather be.

“Yes, you are,” he answers slowly, trying to ignore the hand still stretched towards him. Shadows are not to be touched (even if they look as disappointed as Victor does now, when Yuuri doesn’t take his hand). “Um… Victor, what happened? How did you…?”

 _Die_ , he doesn’t say. What a horrible question to ask a god, he should just shut his mouth. For all the duration of Ever.

To his infinite despair, though, Victor’s smile turns into a heart. _A heart._ No one has ever told him that was feasible, that Victor could become even more beautiful. Mortals and their senseless destruction of Troy finally begin to make sense. He, too, would launch a thousand ships for this smile.

“Lilia told me about the entrance under the Tree!”

Ohhhhh.

Yuuri closes his eyes for a moment, relief washing over him like the waters of Forgetfulness wash away human memories. Victor is fine, he’s not dead. He’s just…

He’s just what? Yuuri opens his eyes again, this time fully registering Victor’s appearance: his long silver hair tied in a messy bun, a few loose strands here and there falling over his eyes and neck; the hem of his tunic is muddy, his knees are filthy, and yet he’s as radiant as the skies.

“You… uhh… youmustbetired.”

At his side, Phichit clears his throat not too discreetly, and Yuuri refrains from shushing him. Victor simply looks confused.

“Sorry?”

“You must be tired,” he repeats, this time clearly. “Would you… like to rest?”

What is he doing, why is he not asking him why he’s here?! But Victor’s surprise gives place to understanding, and his warm smile sends Yuuri reeling.

“I’d much rather spend time with you, if you’ll allow me.”

Yuuri gapes. Phichit’s hand comes up to close his mouth for him, and he swats it away.

“Um, sure?”

 

* * *

 

“Yuuri,” Victor breathes, reverently. “This is gorgeous.”

He smiles. “I thought you might like it,” he says quietly, watching as Victor takes in the view.

The path from the Judgement Palace cannot, in all fairness, be called “beautiful”; most of the Underworld is just wide stretches of arid, bleak landscape. The Garden, though, is a different story. A place for those whose virtues far outweighed their sins in life; where the weather is always pleasant and the fields overflow with flowers and trees that only grow here, intertwined with faintly murmuring brooks.

Victor takes a few steps forward, enraptured by the scenery around him. “This is so full of life,” he mumbles in awe, touching every single plant on his path.

“Good thinking, bringing him here,” whispers Phichit, as they both watch Victor kneel down and chat with the flowers.

Yuuri shrugs. “He’s a vegetation deity. Where else am I gonna take him if not to the Eternal Garden?”

It’s not like the Realm of the Dead is full of interesting places to go anyway, he thinks. There’s only eternal oblivion.

Phichit inches closer. “Soooo… why is he here?”

Yuuri puts his hands up, baffled, while he watches some bright red poppies quickly blooming as Victor talks to them. “I know as much as you do. He just… showed up.”

They had never interacted until today. He’s seen Victor before (may have even gone up to the surface a few times only to get a glimpse of him, from a safe distance). But the first time they were actually in the same company was at the last feast at the Kingdom of Gods. Even then, they didn’t talk.

Not realizing what a riddle he poses, Victor strolls around, marvelling at every detail and every blade of grass. He stops in front of a tree and strikes up a conversation, cheerfully beckoning Yuuri over. 

And like a boat at the mercy of the tides, Yuuri obeys.

When he gets closer, the tree lowers one of its branches and offers Victor a pomegranate hanging from its tip. With a yelp, Yuuri smacks the branch away, drawing a gasp from Victor.

“Yuuri! This poor tree, why would you—”

“Don’teatanythinghere!” he blurts out, fear curling around his heart for the first time in millennia. “Sorry, I just… you mustn’t eat anything here. As a living creature… if you eat food from the Underworld you’ll never be able to leave again.”

Victor stares for a moment, and takes a step towards him — just shy of towering over him — with a slow smile spreading across his features. It’s a different smile, much less Kore the Maiden, and much more…

What?

A smile that speaks not of daylight and birdsong, but of closed doors and whispers. A smile that comes with Victor’s thumb running across Yuuri’s lower lip and makes something coil inside of him, something that feels new and ancient at the same time.

Before Victor can say anything, however, a bark interrupts them. Yuuri’s rapture is broken and he steps back; turning around in the (probably futile) hope of hiding his flushed face, he whistles and opens his arms for his dog to jump into them.

When the dog covers Yuuri’s face in happy slobber, Yuuri hears an “awww”, and feels it’s safe to turn around again.

“Victor, meet my hound, Vicchan.”

Carefully, lovingly, Victor grabs one of Vicchan’s paws and bows before him, mercilessly destroying Yuuri’s soul in the process. After Victor leaves, Yuuri will probably have to drink from the River of Forgetfulness to get over this.

“Very nice to meet you, Vicchan! I must say, I thought the Hound of the Underworld would look rather different.”

Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “How so?”

“Well, humans usually paint him as a three-headed hound.”

“Three-headed?” Yuuri chuckles. “How absurd.”

Victor shrugs, amused. “Some say he has fifty heads, or even a hundred. Although I do remember one particular account where he had one head...”

“Ah, see Vicchan? A sensible hum—”

“...and one hundred snake heads,” he finishes. Behind them, Phichit snorts.

Yuuri stops and stares at Vicchan. Vicchan perks his ears and stares back at him.

“I’d still love you even if you had one _thousand_ snake heads,” he whispers, rubbing his nose against Vicchan’s.

There’s a noise of someone choking and he looks: Victor is clutching his own chest, as if he’s having trouble breathing (even though gods don’t breathe).

“Victor, are you okay?”

Speechless, Victor just nods. 

 

* * *

 

Sunset catches them sitting on a fallen tree trunk at the very edge of the Garden. They can see the entire realm from there, and Yuuri’s never taken his time to just… sit around and observe. But now, seeing it all through Victor’s unaccustomed eyes, everything looks and feels new.

(Except, somehow, for Victor himself. This, whatever it is, feels as old as the oceans, the skies and the Underworld itself. Like something that has always been.)

(Like Victor’s head belongs on his shoulder, and his nose was made for nuzzling against Yuuri’s neck and sending shivers down his spine.)

“What about that spiral staircase over there?” asks Victor, leaning more of his weight against Yuuri.

Yuuri smiles, the weight more than welcome. “That is for the sinners. It leads down to the Three Valleys.”

“Three?” Victor lifts his head with a look of surprise. “Not nine?”

“Nine?”

“I thought there were nine circles.”

Yuuri blinks. “Nine circles of what?”

“Of… damnation? Humans are tortured according to their sins and… no?” he stops, unsure. Perplexed, Yuuri just shakes his head. Is that the kind of nonsense humans think goes on in his realm?

“No, just three. We… well, we do have a lake of fire and a — uhh, it’s not important. But nine? That seems convoluted.”

A little cough behind them suggests otherwise.

“You know,” says Phichit, rising from where he’s been lying on the grass, “we could do with a few more valleys. Nine is a good number, when you consider what humans see as mortal sin and venial sin, and the consequences of that dichotomy, and if you take both the variety of belief systems _and_ human nature into account—”

Yuuri raises a hand. Too much information at once. “Fine, just… talk to Yuuko and Nishigori, see what they think and submit a plan.”

Phichit beams at him and produces a piece of parchment, hastily scribbling down his ideas and walking away.

Yuuri gets up, offering Victor his hand. “Shall we get back?”

Victor accepts the hand, but when he gets up, he doesn’t let go; instead, he holds it in his all the way back to the palace.

And that warm point of contact is the only thing Yuuri can focus on.

 

* * *

 

Objectively speaking, Yuuri is not doing a great job. Victor can feel strands of hair falling from his grip every now and then, and hear Yuuri’s soft “oh” of disappointment when it happens. His concentration is so loud it must be echoing in the Land of the Living.

Still, sitting between Yuuri’s legs and having him braid his hair is easily the apogee of his eternity so far.

They’ve spent most every day in the Garden, and each one of them has finished with Victor asking Yuuri to brush his hair for him, until it evolved into actually braiding it.

“Flower,” says Yuuri softly, and Victor hands him the last one. Yuuri clumsily weaves it through his braid with the others, and then, “There. Done.”

He feels it with one hand. It is far from perfect, true, but it’s Yuuri’s work, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything. The myriad of flowers woven into it was all Yuuri’s idea, too.

“Sorry I’m not better at this,” Yuuri apologizes, but Victor turns around and smiles.

“You’re so much better than before! Besides, practice makes perfect, and it’s not like we haven’t got time,” he says with a wink.

But instead of that familiar flush creeping up his neck, like Victor expects, all he gets is a line between Yuuri’s brows and a heavy lack of eye contact.

“Isn’t it? It’s been two new moons since you got here,” he mumbles, fingers twiddling and eyes cast down. “You should be going back soon.”

Victor stares. When Yuuri's eyes insist on not meeting his, he begins playing with the hem of Yuuri’s tunic. Distantly, he realizes that while it’s made of deep charcoal black, the tunic is bright red on the inside.

(And wouldn’t it look great turned inside out, in a puddle on the floor?)

“Is that what you want? For me to go back?” Victor asks, voice down to a murmur.

That gets Yuuri to look. “What? No, that’s not what I’m saying!”

“ _Is that_ what you want?” he repeats, his fingers twisting the fabric and his eyes trained on Yuuri’s — and how can he say there are no colors in the Underworld, where there’s such deep, rich brown right here in those eyes? The exact color of leaves when they die, the irony of which doesn’t escape him.

Gently, Yuuri pulls him up to sit next to him on the tree trunk.

“It’s not what I want,” he clarifies, and Victor hates that tiny, sad smile that goes with these words, “but what has to happen. You belong in the Upperworld.”

Ever the single-minded creature, Victor focuses exclusively on the first part of that statement and brings Yuuri’s hands to his chest, Yuuri’s hitched breath a small victory already.

“So what do you want?”

He keeps Yuuri’s touch on him with, and Yuuri doesn’t seem aware of his own thumb tracing small patterns on Victor’s chest, left bare by his tunic. Victor slowly tangles one of his hands in Yuuri’s hair, like it’s longed to do from the night of the feast.

They’re so close. So close, all Yuuri has to do is ask.

At Victor’s touch, Yuuri’s eyes flutter shut and he exhales shakily, bringing their foreheads together.

_Ask and it shall be given you, my Yuuri._

“Hmm? Tell me,” Victor says softly, fingers curling hungrily into Yuuri’s hair. Hoping.

Wanting.

Yuuri doesn’t ask — he takes, diving into Victor’s lips with a softness and a certainty that feel like the culmination of a self-fulfilling prophecy. This, the touch on his skin, the hand hesitantly pulling him closer by his braid and the lips where he’s finally allowed to lose himself, one single night of this is what he’d gladly trade Eternity for. What he wants to spend Forever wrapped in.

Soon, much too soon, Yuuri breaks the kiss; but before Victor can reclaim his lips, Yuuri brings his mouth so close to Victor’s ear they both shiver.

“Stay with me,” he breathes. “Don’t leave.”

And just like that, they’re falling: Victor wraps his arms around Yuuri and makes them lose balance, falling gracelessly on the grass. His whole weight lands on top of Yuuri, hair coming out of the braid and falling around them in a waterfall of flowers and silver.

“Oh Victor, after all that work,” Yuuri says, laughter wrinkling his nose in a way that is so adorable it should be profane, “your braid is coming undone.”

His hand carding Victor’s hair feels feather light, and just not enough. Not anymore. Victor smiles, pressing a kiss to the corner of Yuuri’s mouth.

“Let’s go back to the palace,” he whispers, “and you can make much more of me come undone.”

Others can call him Lord of the Underworld. But that beautiful creature blushing in his arms?

_I’ll call you mine._

 

* * *

 

“Yuuri?”

He throws his head as far back as he can on Victor’s lap, and finds an upside-down Yuuko.

“Yes?”

“The Messenger is here.”

He sighs. What now. “I’m going.”

“Actually...” Yuuko starts, voice trailing off, and as soon as he sits up, Yuuri finds out why.

Yuri, the Young is not waiting for him in the throne room, as usual. He’s literally here, right behind Yuuko, and his tunic is so blindingly white and glittering Yuuri blinks for a few seconds.

Victor’s face brightens up like the morning star, in stark contrast with Yuri’s darkened countenance.

“Yurio, hi! Long time no see!”

“Yeah, that’s _exactly_ why I’m — what did you call me?!”

“It’s just not to confuse you two,” says Victor, beaming.

“Hello, Yuri,” Yuuri greets him with a small smile, hoping to make short work of that conversation. Young Yuri seems to be in a mood fouler than normal. “What news do you bring?”

The messenger rolls his eyes. “Yakov says _Tell Victor he is to return to the surface immediately and resume his activities, or humans won’t stop wailing._ ”

Yuuri blinks. Wailing? Why are they wailing? He opens his mouth to ask, and then catches a glimpse of Victor out of the corner of his eye: he's blanched.

Yuuko delicately clears her throat, bringing Yuuri’s attention to her:

“We’ve received one hundred and nine souls this week.”

Yuuri’s eyes widen. That’s a lot for a single week. “Due to?”

She shifts on her feet, with a quick glance at Victor. “Well, uhh, mostly? Hunger and cold.”

Understanding finally dawns on him. He raises an eyebrow and turns to Victor. “Does that have anything to do with you?”

“...maybe?”

“Victor. You’re a harvest god,” says Yuuri, horrified. “Without you, _there’s no harvest._ ”

“Yakov’s there!” he protests. “And he’s the main harvest god!”

“Yeah, except _,_ ” Yuri chimes in, “he got so mad that you up and left all of a sudden that he just… set off one of the harshest winters mortals have ever seen. Now they’re all dropping like flies.”

Victor grabs Yuuri’s hand. “Tell Yakov to do his job better, then, because I’m staying right here.”

With a smile, he kisses Yuuri’s knuckles and, oh, he should really try to convince Victor to go back. It’s been four new moons already.

But who says gods are infallible?

Yuri turns around with a shrug. “Fine. Just don’t complain later.”

 

* * *

 

“You’re taking out the seeds?” asks Victor, amused.

“What? He doesn’t like them. Besides, he’s just dragged back two souls trying to escape, he deserves a reward.”

Vicchan confirms it with a small bark, and Victor laughs. Diligently, Yuuri feeds the dog the second half of the now seedless pomegranate.

“Victor!”

Their heads snap towards the harsh voice: Phichit is running, trying to catch up to—

Oh, for Creation’s sake.

Yuuri stands up with a greeting on his lips, and trying to hide his hand sticky with fruit seeds, but Yakov shoves a finger on his face before he can get a word out:

“You! This is your fault! You stole him from the Upperworld! I’m taking him back right now.”

Yuuri straightens himself up to his full height and fixes him down with a cold stare. No one, not even another god, is going to walk into his realm and demand that which is his.

“I stole no one, and you’re not taking Victor anywhere,” he says resolutely.

_He’s mine._

Then he remembers himself, and turns to Victor: “I mean, unless you want to go back, of course! I want you to do whatever _you_ want to do, and if going back is what you want—”

“Yuuri,” says Victor in a hushed tone, taking Yuuri’s hands in his. “I’m yours. I’m going nowhere.”

Yakov lets out a sigh that carries the weight of aeons. “Victor, don’t be selfish, you have a job up there. You don’t belong in the Underworld.”

Victor gives him a curious look. “You know what, Yakov, you’re right.” He smiles. “I don’t belong here.”

Yuuri feels his chest cave in, but Victor delicately swipes one finger over Yuuri’s right hand, stealing some of the seeds still there.

He shows them to Yakov. “You know these?”

“Pomegranate seeds. I’m a vegetation god, Victor.”

But Victor shakes a finger at him. “Nah-ah. These are pomegranate seeds _from the Underworld_.”

Yuuri holds his breath. Behind Yakov, Phichit’s eyes go wide.

“Great, good for them. Now let’s—” Yakov goes deadly still. “Victor, do _not._ ”

Slowly, deliberately, Victor lifts his finger to his mouth,

“Victor, I’m telling you _right now—_ ”

He licks his own finger and eats the seeds, making a show of chewing them while looking into Yakov’s eyes.

“ _Have you lost your mind?!_ ”

“There!” Victor announces blithely. “ _Now_ I belong here!”

Phichit bursts into a fit of laughter, while Yakov looks just about ready to explode.

Yuuri pinches the bridge of his nose. Lilia is going to kill him. No, Lilia is going to Doom him. She’s going to trap him in his own Limbo for all the rest of Time itself.

His thoughts take a more pleasant detour, however, when Victor grabs his right hand again and gives his fingers a very thorough suck. Yuuri’s knees threaten to buckle in front of all the gods and everyone.

Victor pulls off with a _pop_ and a wink.

“Just making sure I got all the seeds.”

He stares, transfixed. Lilia’s definitely going to doom him.

_Worth it._

 

* * *

 

“...and Yakov was really annoying about the whole thing, which, really. Didn’t he get what he wanted?!” Victor complains.

Yuuri clicks his tongue, sympathetic. “Yes, well. He’ll be like that for a while, most likely.”

In the end, no matter how much Yakov insisted, Lilia had the final word: rules were rules (as Yuuri made a point of vehemently reminding her). Victor had partaken of Underworld food, and thereafter belonged in the Underworld. But in order to appease her partner (Yakov would always have that leverage, Yuuri thought bitterly), she decreed that Victor was to spend three months of every year on the surface, so as to help life bloom after the throes of winter.

Humans now call these three months “spring”, and Yuuri hates it. Hates every single moment of spring and every single second that separates him from his husband.

But now that it’s summer again, life in the Upperworld does not concern either of them.

“By the way, did I tell you?” asks Victor brightly, tossing his long hair aside, and Yuuri can’t help but follow the movement, a little hypnotized. “Mortals gave me a new name!”

“Oh? What are they calling you now?”

“Persephone!”

Yuuri thinks about that. It sounds like the words ‘murder’ and ‘destroy’ in certain languages, which… is a bit dramatic, perhaps. And not exactly what comes to mind when he thinks of Victor among the flowers. But it is an awful lot like the Victor that only he knows, the Victor that wreaks havoc on Yuuri in their shared nights.

Sometimes, humans do get it right.

He pulls Victor down by his tunic, getting him close enough for a kiss but not quite granting it.

“Why don’t you tell me more about it in our chamber?” he whispers, lightly brushing his lips against Victor’s.

A breathy laugh, and Victor’s hands tightening around his waist, are the only answers he gets for a moment, and then, “If I’d known the Lord of the Underworld was so demanding, I would’ve talked to you long before the feast,” he teases.

Yuuri’s brows knit together. “What do you mean, "before the feast"?”

“Only that I wouldn’t have waited until then to talk to you.”

“Wait,” Yuuri steps back, confused. “What feast are we talking about?”

“You know… the wedding one. Where Chris got the golden apple?”

“We didn’t talk that night,” he points out.

The puzzled expression on Victor’s face seems to disagree.

“But we… Yuuri, how much do you remember from that feast?” he asks carefully.

“Um, not much? Emil… Emil gave me a lot of mead that day, and I… ” he lets his shrug speak for itself.

Victor’s stunned silence echoes in the room for a few seconds, until he snorts — suddenly, unattractively and wonderfully.

“So what you’re saying,” he says, pulling Yuuri close to him again, and slowly swaying with him to non-existent music, “is that in one night I saw you across the room, realized you’re Creation’s finest work, danced with you until Dawn, loved you… and you don’t remember any of it?”

“We _what_ _?!_ ” Yuuri screeches, and it’s only Victor’s firm grasp on him that stops him from falling when he trips on his own feet. “We danced? Victor, why didn’t you say so before?!”

“How was I to know you didn’t remember it?” Victor replies, still keeping them gently swaying.

Victor… literally descended into the Underworld for him, while Yuuri couldn’t even remember their first meeting. He’s the _worst_ husband.

“Victor, I’m so sorry, I… I should remember it,” he murmurs, hiding his face on Victor’s shoulder. Unperturbed, Victor spins him; Yuuri is fine with the spinning, but the smile that follows has him dizzy.

“Remember me now, and that’s all that matters.”

He scrunches up his nose, as if he had to think about it. “Hmm… could I interest you in "forever", instead of now?” he offers. Eternity has never seemed less stale, when he’s about to spend it in Victor’s arms.

Victor brings them to a slow stop, and raises Yuuri’s hand to his lips.

“Forever sounds good to me. My Yuuri.”

Mortals have all sorts of name for him. Queen of the Great Earth. Lord of the Dead. The Unseen One.

Let them.

Let them call him God of Death and Darkness.

But _my Yuuri_ will be the only name he’ll ever love.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally published on the pilot edition of the YOI literary magazine [Shall We Read](https://yoilitmag.tumblr.com/).
> 
> It is also an AU that I'd been meaning to write for so damn long, and the litmag gave me the excuse for it XD I live and die for Greek myths, so this HAD to happen.
> 
> The title was taken from the poem "Persephone Speaks", by Daniella Michalleni, [published on her blog](http://daniellamichalleni.tumblr.com/post/104806492667/i-asked-him-for-it-for-the-blood-for-the-rust)
> 
> Thanks to [Rae](http://extranikiforov.tumblr.com/) for the beta work! ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://thehobbem.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/thehobbem)!


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